There came the sound of a splashing leap, and bare
feet raced across the bathroom floor. The door
was wrenched from Sir Beverley’s grasp, and
flung open. Piers, quite naked, stood back and
bowed him in with elaborate ceremony.

Sir Beverley entered and glared at him.

Piers shut the door and took a flying jump back into
the bath. The room was dense with steam.

“You don’t mind if I go on with my wash,
do you?” he said. “I shall be late
for dinner if I don’t.”

“What in thunder do you want to boil yourself
like this for?” demanded Sir Beverley.

Piers, seated with his hands clasped round his knees,
looked up with the smile of an infant. “It
suits my constitution, sir,” he said. “I
freeze myself in the morning and boil myself at night—­always.
By that means I am rendered impervious to all atmospheric
changes of temperature.”